One of Those Nights
by HouAreYouToday
Summary: COMPLETED! Dr. Watson is a medical examiner leading a quiet life until one night, a body of a young woman bearing a striking resemblance to her is brought in. She pairs up with Jake Holmes, consulting detective, to confront her past... and catch a killer.
1. Preparation for a Long Night

AN: The Holmes/Watson partnership (and Lestrade's personality) belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; I'm just borrowing them for my story! Prologue 

I hate working on weeknights. Perhaps it's just old childhood qualms, but somehow, in my line of work, the long stretches of silence at night seem a lot more eerie- something about the empty building, its squeaky clean halls and lime green walls just added to the uncomfortable atmosphere of the entire place. Oh, and the dead bodies, too, I suppose. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my line of work- nothing as mentally stimulating as putting together a puzzle of how someone came to be lying lifeless on a cold, stainless steel table in front of you - but some nights, the morbidity of my job gets to me just the same. 

Last Tuesday night was one of those nights. 

It started out being rather quiet, like most weeknights are. I was alone in the office finishing up some paperwork on a recent suicide case. Just the normal Tuesday night, I figured. If I hurried, I might be able to get back to my apartment in time to watch the fourth quarter of Laker-Jazz game, I thought. _Finally, some "me time."_

And then my pager went off. I sighed, realizing that I was on call tonight. Putting down the packet of death certificate paperwork, I picked up my pager and called the seemingly familiar number. 

A gruff, hurried voice answered. "Lestrade." 

I grinned. Ah, just his luck for me to be on duty tonight. "Hey Lestrade, you paged?" 

I could sense his inward groan. "You're on duty tonight?" 

Before I could think of a reply, he continued. "Well, I'll be bringing one in tonight, so you guys'll have to take a look at it. Though you might want Anderson to come down and take a look at it." 

There went my plans of watching John Stockton trump Derek Fisher. I was the one on "receiving" duty tonight. "Anderson and his wife have their anniversary dinner tonight. Should I get the paperwork started? Or do you need me to come down to the scene?" 

Lestrade's usual booming voice seemed to fade. "I think you might want to page another M.E. to help you with this one. Do you want me to call dispatch and ask for Walnut Grove's M.E. to come down? I know him personally and-" 

"Hold it!" I barked into the phone. "Detective, are you questioning my professional abilities as a medical examiner?" I asked testily. I knew this guy disliked me personally, but I didn't know it extended to my work. 

Lestrade took a deep breath. "All right. We'll do it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you- it's a difficult one." 

I ignored his comment. "What's the ETA?" 

"We'll be there in an hour. Oh, and I'm bringing someone with me." With that, he hung up. 

That aroused my curiosity. It wasn't every day that Lestrade, one of the known "loners" on the force, tolerated working with someone. Must be a newbie rookie who was paired with him, I figured. 

I set the phone in its cradle and began prepping to receive. This was going to be a long night.   
  
  
  
AN: Don't worry, "Sherlock" (and the mystery) will be introduced in the next chapter- there is a point to this! Please read and review, as this is my first attempt at fan fiction! Thanks! 


	2. Drumroll, please...

AN: As always, what ACD owns is his, everything else is mine. Chapter 1 

An hour and twenty minutes passed before Lestrade strolled through the automatic doors, followed by two men. He pounded the bell on the counter. "Hurry up, doctor, I don't want to wait around all night." 

I could hear his impatient fingers drumming on the countertop as I propped open the door to the receiving room and approached him. "Hello, detective. What have you got?" I asked, coolly. 

Lestrade motioned and one of the men- another police officer- set the body bag down on the stretcher I had set up. 

"Is there anything else you need, sir?" the weary police officer asked. Lestrade shook his head. With a polite "good night," the junior officer disappeared through the doors. 

"So who's your friend?" I asked, causally directing the question at Lestrade. I glanced at the other man Lestrade brought with him before (much to my embarrassment) doing a double take. Lestrade and his companion could not have been more physically different. Lestrade was a short, balding, rat-faced man with poor grooming habits. On the other hand, his good-looking friend stood a good six feet, clad in a long, jet black trench coat that further emphasized his height and pale complexion. His disheveled hair was the exception to his otherwise immaculate appearance. 

Lestrade made introductions hastily, gesturing to his companion. "Dr. Watson, this is Jacob Holmes, my… colleague. Jake, this is Dr. Watson, the ME on duty." Lestrade's slight hesitation before mentioning his relationship with Holmes did not escape my notice. 

I smiled nervously at Holmes, meeting his gaze, and not completely comfortable under the scrutiny of his piercing blue eyes. I shook his outstretched hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes." 

He nodded. "Likewise, doctor." 

Grabbing the stack of paperwork that inevitably went with any body brought in by cops, I made my way over to the stretcher and began wheeling it into the room I had prepared earlier, Lestrade and Holmes at my heels. "So what's the history?" I asked, as I stuffed my shoulder length hair into a cap, put on a face mask, and a new pair of latex gloves. I was anxious to begin the initial inspection as I gestured to Lestrade and Holmes to do the same. 

Lestrade whipped out his notebook. "Victim is a 28 year old Asian female discovered dead on the floor of her bathroom by her mother this afternoon around 4PM. She was completely nude except for socks. By her side we found two razors and an empty bottle of generic aspirin. She was last seen yesterday night after she completed her day shift, so she was unaccounted for about 9 hours." 

I proceeded to unzip the body bag. Lestrade had donned a pair of latex gloves himself and helped me move the body from the bag onto the examination table. "Are you sure you want to do this one alone?" he asked, one last time. 

I glared at him before answering. "Yeah, yeah." I nodded absentmindedly. And then I saw her face. 

It was like looking into a mirror.   
  
  
  
AN: Thanks to Anneliese for (their) support! 


	3. Lestrade's Theory

AN: As per usual, ACD owns W/H/L, I'm just borrowing them for my plot! Chapter 2 

To say that I was upset would be the biggest understatement of the year. In front of me lay a dead body which belonged to a victim, who, if alive, could have passed for me. _Was this coincidence- or a case of, God forbid, mistaken identity?_

Evidently my distress was written plainly on my face, as Lestrade ventured to break the silence. "Dr. Watson? Should I page Dr. Anderson?" 

I couldn't tell if Lestrade was concerned- or sarcastic in an I-told-you-so way. My reputation as a rough-and-tough ME was at stake. Pull together, I reprimanded myself. _Don't lose it now- especially not in front of Lestrade- or that cute friend of his._

"No, I'll be fine." I hoped my voice didn't betray my apprehension. 

I began the initial examination of the body, making notes as I went, to determine the approximate time of death- and whether a full autopsy was needed. Lestrade's cell phone rang, interrupting the silence. When Lestrade left the room, Holmes approached the table without a word, following my every move with his hawk eyes. It was as if he was playing the role of the medical examiner, trying to determine the manner and cause of death. 

"So are you a new detective? I haven't seen you around before." In an attempt to get my mind off of the similarity of the victim's face to mine, I tried to lighten the mood as I methodically checked the skin for any sign of external injuries. 

Holmes laughed sardonically but did not answer my question. "How do you think she died, doctor?" It was as if he was testing me. 

I wasn't sure I enjoyed having my skills challenged all night long- first by Lestrade, then by Holmes. However, before I could reply, Lestrade practically skipped into the room. "Doctor, you don't have to do the autopsy," he proudly announced. 

Holmes continued to inspect the body as I turned to look at Lestrade. "What do you mean?" I asked. 

Lestrade removed his face mask, grinning. "This was definitely a suicide. I just got off the phone with her psychiatrist. The woman had been seeing him for two years now for depression and had previously attempted suicide twice in the last year- by slicing her wrists. So this time she succeeded. And those razors we found next to her- I'll bet anything that it'll be her blood when we get it back from the lab. And look at these-" he pointed to the numerous cuts on the woman's wrists- "that's an open and shut case if I ever had one." He looked at us for validation. 

Holmes's face was expressionless. "Interesting theory, Lestrade." He turned to me. "Do you agree, doctor?" 

I took a deep breath. "From the initial examination that I've done so far, I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, detective. I think that we need to do a full autopsy, which I can schedule for tomorrow." 

Holmes' eyes lit up. "Why do you think so, doctor?" he pressed. 

On the other hand, Lestrade was clearly annoyed. "Yes, please enlighten us with your expertise." 

"Well, I don't disagree with her previous psychiatric history. There is evidence that she has cut her wrists before. They have healed over, see?" My admission seemed to placate Lestrade a bit. 

I continued. "However, there's a line pattern of bruising- a few burst blood vessels- along both wrists that is inconsistent with simple wrist cutting. I also found a similar pattern around her ankles. It could be rope burn- the bruising could be a result of a struggle." 

Lestrade was not about to be defeated so easily. "Yes, doctor, she also could've had a kinky boyfriend. But how do you explain the bloodstains we found on the floor by her wrists? And the razors and pills? Dr. Watson, you were not at the scene. Sometimes things are exactly what they appear to be." 

He had a point. "I would still like to conduct the autopsy," I stated, simply to spite him. 

Lestrade waved me off. "If you want to waste the time, go ahead. As for me, I'm heading back to the station. Let me know if you find anything… interesting." He turned to leave. 

"On the contrary, I think the doctor is on the right track." Holmes coolly interjected, stopping Lestrade in his tracks.   
  
  
  
AN:Thanks to snowwolf for her support! Please R/R, thanks! 


	4. Murder!

AN: Same disclaimer as previous chapters- ACD owns W/H/L, everything else is mine. Chapter 3 

"There are a couple of details that must not be overlooked. If you had looked closer, Dr. Watson, you would have noticed flakes of skin under her fingernails. Particularly noteworthy are the brownish flakes under her right index fingernail." 

"Blood?" Lestrade was skeptical. 

Holmes shrugged. "Further analysis is needed of course- which the lab could easily take of. Though this is the most peculiar of all." He lifted the pale lifeless arm. 

Lestrade was as puzzled as I was. "What is?" he asked, surprisingly deferential. 

"It's clean." This significance of his curt reply was not lost on me as I realized what Holmes was trying to say. _Of course! If she had slit her own wrists, there would be a blood trail either down her inner arm or along her hand_. Blood does not simply dripped from the wound to the floor and leave no trace; its high water content dictates that given the choice, it willalways "run along" a surface rather than fall freely through the air. _Well, unless her wrist was right next to the floor-_

"She was found with her left arm across the chest and her right arm at her side with the wrist facing upwards," Holmes interrupted. 

_How did he know what I was going to ask?_

He chuckled. "Don't be so surprised doctor. Your face is an open book." Turning his attention to Lestrade, who still seemed rather confused, he continued, "Well, Lestrade, I don't think there is anything more to be learned here. Perhaps a visit to her family to ask about her "kinky boyfriend" would be appropriate. You may still turn out to be right." 

Lestrade nodded, regaining some of his usual airs. "Of course. I'm heading over there right now. I'll keep you posted." With an abrupt nod, Lestrade left. 

"Now, I recall that you said you would schedule this woman's autopsy for tomorrow morning, if I'm not mistaken?" Holmes asked me, as he opened the victim's jaw and looked inside her mouth, giving a little gasp of excitement. 

I nodded. "Yes, tomorrow morning." _Who was this guy and how did he ever get Lestrade follow his suggestions? Lestrade, who wouldn't even listen to his own mother!_

"It would be great if I could take a look at your toxicology reports when you're done. Particularly as to what she ingested." 

"Sure. Looking for the aspirin?" I ventured to ask. 

He shook his head. 

"Then what do you expect to find?" 

"You haven't figured it out yet, doctor?" Holmes cried incredulously. "You've seen all the evidence necessary to determine the cause and manner of death." 

"Are you saying she was murdered, Mr. Holmes?" I was in disbelief. I knew that the evidence was inconsistent with a suicide by wrist slitting- but murder? 

"Yes, Dr. Watson. This is definitely a homicide." He was serious. "In fact, I believe she was poisoned."   
  
  
  
Thanks again to snowwolf for her review! 


	5. A Plea for Help

AN: The standard disclaimer: Anything that's ACD's is his, everything else is mine. This chapter does get a little techincal-y, so please let me know how it's going by reviewing. Chapter 4 

This guy was incredible- either he really had the evidence to back that statement up- or else he was a really good liar. Yet he seemed so sure of himself, carrying himself with the confidence of an expert. And if he was an expert in forensics, I had definitely never heard of anyone as fast or efficient as this guy anywhere. My mind raced. _Was he merely a detective, as Lestrade had said?_ Detectives usually don't possess this type of scientific knowledge; they leave that aspect to MEs- like me. _Who was he? _

"Dr. Watson?" 

I snapped back to reality. "Yes?" 

"I just asked if you wanted to know why I came to that conclusion." 

I was intrigued. "Of course. I was just about to ask you that." 

Holmes pried open her mouth. "What do you see?" 

"Everything appears to be normal. Nothing obtruding the airway or the esophagus," I reported. 

"Precisely. Now, think back to how she was found. What would you expect to find?" 

Then it dawned on me. "She was supposed to have finished a whole bottle of aspirin..." 

Holmes grinned. "Yes, and if she did, it would have taken her, even if she did slit her wrists- which we now know she didn't- at least an hour to die. During this time, her body wouldn't be able to handle it-" 

"And she would have thrown it up- but it's all clean. No evidence of vomiting at all," I quickly finished. 

"You catch on quick, doctor. And of course, in answer to your next question, externally there are no signs of bruising consistent with suffocation." 

_And a mind reader at that._ "So poison would be the logical conclusion. A foreign substance in excess. Is there anything else that I should include in the preliminary findings before I do the actual autopsy tomorrow?" I offered, completely in awe of the man standing before me. 

He shook his head. "No, that's it. Although I do need your help on something else doctor- if you'd be willing to bend the rules a bit. There are a few things I do need to clear up." 

"What is it?" 

"I need you to access the computer database for me. I'd usually ask Lestrade, but he's currently eliminating the possibility of a boyfriend as a potential suspect." The database was a gigantic, massive storage of case files online that allowed any law enforcement official (medical examiners and coroners included) to search and access records on previous and ongoing cases. If Holmes was asking me to access the database for him, then he wasn't law enforcement. 

_So who was he?_   
  
  
AN: Thanks to snowwolf, my faithful reviewer. This chapter is dedicated to her as "most" of it is Lestrade-less. :) 


	6. The Beginning of the Partnership

AN: Once again, I need your help! Please R/R, thanks! Again, the usual disclaimer applies. Chapter 5 

"Well, the computer in my office is currently being de-bugged and reformatted so I can't touch it. And I don't have the keys to anyone else's office…" I trailed off, wondering where at this time of night could I get to a secure computer connection. "We'd have to go elsewhere if you want to do this tonight- the police station, perhaps?" 

"Why there?" 

"For security reasons, we can't access the database from public computers. The security feature will pick up the unfamiliar IP address and then block your access, even if you entered in the right password. The only places you can login are this office, the station, or your home, if you have it set up," I explained. 

"Or if you can find some way to mask the IP address- a proxy, perhaps?" he mused. 

_A hacker too? This guy knew everything! _ "You can do that?" I ventured. 

"Unfortunately, I can't. Though I would like to learn sometime. Information these days is limited by one's knowledge of technology." 

"So, to the station?" If Holmes answered in the affirmative, it meant I most likely would encounter Lestrade again- though Holmes seemed to take some air out of t hat hothead. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. 

"I don't know if that's a good idea. I think you've had all the Lestrade you could handle today- and I know he's sick of you. Perhaps someplace else?" 

He was perceptive. "Yeah. We really don't get along. Maybe tomorrow morning then? It is getting late." 

Holmes began to pace. "Dr. Watson, homicide cases are either solved in the first 72 hours or never solved at all. There is a murderer out there- and if my conclusions are valid, this would not be the first time he has killed. I need to finish this and get him off the streets- so I need your help. Tonight." 

"Well, I guess you could come over- to my apartment. I can access the database from there," I hastily offered, taken aback by the passion in his voice. 

As soon as the words left my mouth, I was cursing myself. _What are you, dumb? You're letting someone you barely know into your own apartment to access secure files under your name- that alone could cost you your job. And not to mention that this guy could totally turn out to be some psychopath… _

"If you're not comfortable with me coming over, Dr. Watson, I won't impose." His calm, collected voice broke my train of thought. 

I was uneasy. "I just don't know anything about you Mr. Holmes. I mean, you're not law enforcement- not that that means anything…" 

"Ask me something about me, then." 

My curiosity got the better of me. "If you're not law enforcement, how do you know so much about investigative techniques? And why do you help Detective Lestrade?" 

"One question at a time, Dr. Watson. You're correct- I'm not Lestrade's colleague. Both Lestrade and Gregson bring me in to relieve their workload. Officially, I'm considered a paid consultant- but it must be obvious to you by now that I am their superior in deductive reasoning.' 

'As for your next question, Lestrade is difficult- but he knows enough to follow my advice- which is more than I can say for some of the other detectives on the force, and because he provides me with these wonderful… brainteasers, I don't mind when he takes all the official credit for solving them." 

Something in my gut told me to trust this guy- and his answer did seem sincere, though quite arrogant. _This was a **murder**, not a mere brainteaser! She was dead... and she looked like me. Perhaps it might be better to have some company tonight after all, regardless of arrogance._ "Well, let me get my stuff and we can go," I found myself saying as I proceeded to cover the body.   
  
  
  
AN: Thanks again to snowwolf for your review; the story is set in present time! 


	7. Bit of Watson's Past

AN: The usual disclaimer... yada, yada, yada... Chapter 6 

Holmes was silent for most of the way to my apartment, seemingly lost in his own world. "So, Dr. Watson, married life didn't suit you?" 

I slammed on the brakes, not carrying about the honking cars behind me. "What? How did you know?" I stammered. 

He was amused. "Maybe you should pull over and let me drive?" 

I shook my head as I continued on, still gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles were white. "I'll be ok. We're only a few blocks away. But I would appreciate it if you could tell me…" 

"How I did it? It's really quite simple. First of all, Watson is not a common last name for an Asian girl like yourself- either one of your parents was not of Asian ancestry- or you were married. Having observed the picture of your family on your office desk, I was able to eliminate the first possibility. So I came to the conclusion you were married. Not unlikely, as you are in your late twenties." 

I nodded mutely. 

He continued. "But you weren't wearing a ring, even though you do have a slight ring tan. At first I thought that it might be because you were at work; many doctors do remove their jewelry in case they lose it in scrubbing or what not. The ring tan is fading, and you refer to the apartment as 'mine' and not 'ours.' Finally, the divorce papers in the backseat confirmed beyond a doubt my deductions." 

I was torn between amazement at the logical progression of his observations and indignity at his inconsideration of bringing up a matter that was still too painful for me to discuss. 

"That was pretty sharp of you, Mr. Holmes," I managed to say, fingering the chain with my old wedding band that I wore around my neck, tucked underneath my shirt. 

He looked extremely pleased at my compliment. "Merely a simple deductive exercise," he commented as I parked and we got out. 

"However amazing your deductive abilities are, I'd appreciate it if you don't bring up my past anymore." My voice was pained as I fumbled through my bag for the apartment keys. 

His face was expressionless. 

I let him in the apartment and showed him to the computer in the study. After I had logged in, Holmes became preoccupied with the search, running through the system with a familiar ease. 

I proceeded to make myself a late dinner, which I consumed while finishing up the pile of paperwork I brought home from the office. Just one of those nights- me, the couch, paperwork, ramen, and a bit of Dvorak's New World Symphony going in the background. Oh, and Mr. Jake Holmes, detective extraordinaire, staring intently at my computer screen.   
  
  
AN: Flame me if necessary! I need encouragement ;) 


	8. At Last, a Suspect...

AN: ACD owns stuff. I own everything else. Chapter 7 

I awoke the next morning a bit confused about my whereabouts. The last thing I remembered was reviewing some reports. I rubbed my eyes, trying to make sense of my surroundings, finally realizing that I had fallen asleep on the couch. And then I remembered. _Holmes._

I quickly got up and walked to the study. He wasn't there- or anywhere in the apartment- but a note was taped to the computer screen, written in a steady, precise hand. _Dr. Watson: _

I did not want to disturb you, as you were asleep.   
Thank you for letting me access the database under your login. I have found what I was looking for. This case should be wrapped up shortly. However, I do have one last favor to ask of you.   
No doubt you have noticed how the victims bear great physical resemblance to you. Does the name "Austin Reingold" mean anything to you?   
I will stop by your office later this afternoon to see the toxicology reports. 

J. Holmes Victims? Austin Reingold? No, it couldn't be. There was no way… was there? My head began to spin. 

_Compose yourself!_

I glanced at my watch. It was already 7:30, and if I didn't hurry, I would be late for work; I didn't need Anderson haranguing me this morning and adding to my headache. 

******

Autopsies are painstakingly slow- there's no such thing as a careless medical examiner (at least, not one who wants to keep his job). Every little thing detail has to be taken into account and documented. Yet this morning was rather bizarre; the autopsy seemed only a verification of every single one of Holmes' theories the previous night. However, I had discovered something that previously escaped both our inspections last night, and I couldn't wait to show him. 

Holmes showed up around three with a file under his arm. It didn't look like he got any sleep, but he was still as energetic as ever. "So, Dr. Watson, what have you got? Is it poison?" 

I handed him the toxicology report. "Yes. They did find a lethal quantity of Dalamane, which is a sedative only available in hospitals, in her bloodstream," I summarized. 

"Anything else?" He thumbed through the report. 

"She didn't ingest anything. I found a puncture mark on her back under the right shoulder blade. The mark corresponds to an injection- and given the placement of it, there was no way she could have injected herself." 

"Yes, I'd expected you to find it sooner or later. Now, about Austin Reingold?" Holmes' face was eager. 

I gulped. "What about him?" 

Holmes eyed my reaction carefully. "You know him." It was a statement more than a question. 

I nodded. 

He placed the file he had brought with him on my desk in front of me. "Open it, Dr. Watson." 

  
  
  
  
AN: Hmmm... should I move this storyline along faster? What do you think? Let me know! 


	9. More Victims?

Chapter 8 

AN: Doyle has first dibs on ownership of stuff in here. 

I gingerly flipped open the thin file, a bit apprehensive and yet at the same time curious. Inside were three 8x10 pictures clipped together. The first was a picture of the victim. I felt a pang of sadness, contrasting her then beautiful smile with her now frigid body lying in a cold, stainless steel cabinet. 

Holmes sat down on my desk, observing my reaction as he ticked off facts. "Christina Lee, who you performed the autopsy on this morning. A very charming physical therapist at Children's Hospital who was prone to occasional bouts of maniac depression. Found dead in her bathroom, as you know." 

I set her picture aside and picked up the next one. Again, it was an Asian female in her twenties, youthful, exuberant- with some resemblance to me. I felt a chill travel down my spine. This was getting a bit too creepy. 

Holmes continued. "Jacqueline Chen, a pharmacist, was found dead in her bedroom last month after what appeared to be a single self-afflicted gunshot wound to the head. Toxicology also showed a lethal quantity of-" he paused dramatically, "Dalamane in her bloodstream." 

My fingers trembled uncontrollably as I picked up the final picture. I was beginning to sense a horrific pattern- Asian girl in her late twenties found dead with a deadly dose of Dalamane in her bloodstream. 

"Michelle Tang. A second year pediatric resident also at Children's Hospital, found dead in her bathroom two months ago." 

"Dalamane?" I croaked, knowing the answer. 

Holmes nodded. "There's more, Dr. Watson. All three of the victims died on the 15th of the month." He hopped off my desk and began to pace. 

"Could be coincidence," I offered meekly. 

He was growing impatient. "Look, Dr. Watson. Even though the first two cases were classified as suicides in the database, I know these women were murdered. Austin Reingold is the key. Now, you need to tell me what you know about him so I can wrap this up." He pulled up the nearest chair and sat in it, facing me, leaning against the wall and propping his long legs on my desk. 

I nodded meekly. "I guess you know that it is Dr. Reingold, right? He's a pediatric oncologist." 

Holmes closed his eyes. "Yes, I was aware of that." 

"Dr. Reingold and I are good friends-" I began carefully, before being interrupted by Holmes, who was still reclining with his eyes closed. 

"The whole truth, Dr. Watson. It makes my job some much easier." 

I swallowed uneasily. "Sorry. It's just part of my life that I want to forget." 

"Please continue." 

I took a deep breath. "Austin was my…"   
  
  



	10. Painful Past...

Chapter 9 

AN: ACD is the rightful owner of everything Sherlockian... I'm just borrowing.

I took a deep breath. "Austin was my mentor when I was in the pediatric oncology program at Children's Hospital. He was a newly hired attending physician and I was one of the chief residents in my last year of the program. We hit it off right away." 

I paused, casting my eyes to my feet in shame. The next part of the story was always the hardest to tell. 

"So you and Dr. Reingold had an intimate relationship. So what?" he remarked casually, as if he were shrugging it off as if it were unimportant. 

With all his amazing deductive abilities- which I had witnessed over the last twenty-four hours- I couldn't believe he hadn't figured it out yet. "I was married, Holmes. It was an affair." I whispered, refusing to look up as tears threatened to roll down my face. 

"Obviously you ended it." Holmes' voice was surprisingly soft. 

I nodded, comforted by the seeming lack of judgment in his simple statement. "But not before it destroyed my marriage." 

He changed the subject. "What is the significance of the 15th?" 

"Our affair began on the 15th of June. He would send me flowers on the 15th of every month." 

"Have you spoken to him since?" 

I shook my head, still a bit emotional. "Why do you think I took this medical examiner job when I could have had any job in pediatrics that I wanted?" 

The doctor-patient relationship is built solely on trust- something that I did not believe myself capable of achieving anymore. It was just easier to deal with the dead than children; I couldn't hurt the dead. And then I saw in his eyes that he understood; it was as if he, too, shared a pain similar to mine that he chose to run from. 

It was a fleeting moment, as Holmes jumped up from his chair, excited about some new idea that undoubtedly just hit him. "Come, Dr. Watson. I would like your help. I know just how we can catch Dr. Austin Reingold."   
  



	11. Confession

Chapter 10 

A/N: ACD owns stuff… and a big apology via the long wait- MCATs, Organic Chem Final, and of course, RA work as the freshmen are moving in : … enough excuses. On with the story… 

Chapter 10 

As I deftly maneuvered my car around the winding, tree-lined streets of San Marino on the way to Austin's house, I couldn't help but wonder just what I had allowed myself to get into. The seemingly familiar trees did nothing to ease my turbulent emotions; just the very idea I was going to see Austin again was enough to throw my entire world upside down. Add to that Holmes' plans and careful instructions, I was surprised that I wasn't hurling already. 

I reached his house without further incident. The house was just like I remembered it, with a beautiful brink façade, white pillars reminiscent of those Southern plantation homesteads. Taking a deep breath, I got out of my car, and walked rather unsteadily towards the front door. Remember your job, I reprimanded myself. _Remember what you agreed to do- and don't freak out. Holmes and Lestrade are watching the entire thing._

With a shaky finger, I rang the doorbell and listened intently as it echoed through the house. I saw a figure approach the door and open it slowly. And then I found myself face-to-face with Austin, who wore a rather surprised look on his face 

"Laura?" He managed to utter. 

"Hello, Austin." I tried to smile. Austin hadn't changed a single bit; he was still very attractive. 

His initial surprise began to wear off. "What are you doing here?" 

I gulped. "I came by to see you." 

Austin's smile morphed into a sneer. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. 

"Austin, I'm sorry." 

"Sorry doesn't even begin to cut it, Laura." His features contorted with obvious pain. 

This wasn't going well, I thought. _Perhaps a different approach._ "I know. But I'm here now." 

Those must have been the magic words. His face softened and he opened the door further, gesturing for me to come in. "Yeah, I guess you are." 

I slipped my shoes off and followed him inside, my feet sinking into the plush red carpet. 

Neither of us said a word as we sat down on his couch. Everything seemed the same- except for the nagging voice in the back of my mind that kept reminding me- _Austin was a murderer._

"So, Laura, how have you been?" 

Small talk. _I could handle that._ "Had a lot of time to think and find myself. Living by yourself does allow for that. How about you?" 

He smiled, seemingly satisfied by my answer as he moved a bit closer to me on the couch. "Terrible. Dissatisfied." 

_Now we were getting somewhere._ "What do you mean?" 

He shrugged. "I thought I could forget you- forget us, you know." 

I waited for him to continue, as I started to feel a bit more uncomfortable. 

"But I couldn't, Laura. So I looked everywhere. But no one- no one's like you." 

I didn't like where this was going but I probed him for more information anyway. "There are lots of people like me." 

"They look like you- but they're not you, Laura. When you left, I kept trying to find you in other people. But imposters, all of them. Now that you're back, everything's ok." 

I definitely didn't like where this was going. What the hell had I allowed myself to be talked into? "So how many of them were there? These- imposters?" 

Austin sighed. "Does it even matter anymore?" 

I nodded intently. "If we want to start over- we both need to be honest." 

"Three," he finally answered. "How about dinner tonight?" 

I tried to change the subject back. "So you've dated three girls?" I hoped that this surveillance equipment Lestrade had his techies wire me with was reliable. 

Austin seemed slightly annoyed. "If I tell you about them, can we have dinner tonight? Pick up where we left off?" 

I nodded, half-heartedly. "Sure." 

"There was Jacqueline Chen. Michelle Tang. Christina Lee. They all looked like you, Laura- but none of them had your particular charm." 

The nonchalant way he rattled off the names of all three dead girls chilled me, sending a shiver down my spine all the way to my toes. 

Keep him talking, Holmes had said. "So what?" 

Austin grew visibly angry. "So they weren't you, Laura! Don't you understand? They were just fakes! I had to do away with them!" 

My eyes grew wide. "Do away with them?" Holmes was right- Austin- my Austin- had killed them- all of them. 

Austin didn't notice as he continued on his angry tirade. "I killed them Laura. I won't be fooled by them anymore. This way, I could find the real you! And look, you've come back to me." 

For me. Those three girls had died because of _me_. I really needed to hurl. 

"Austin, where's the bathroom?" This was the prearranged signal. I had gotten the confession; Lestrade and Holmes would be coming through the door as soon as I had left the room. 

Austin paused, pointing the down the hall. "Dinner?" 

I nodded meekly, unable to say anything, as I half-ran down the hall, repulsed by what was going on, hoping to find some temporary relief as I closed and locked the door behind me. 

A/N: Much thanks and appreciation to snowwolf and Finley!   
  
  



	12. Truth Over All

AN: One more chapter after this J Maybe an epilogue too? 

Chapter 11

            I didn't know how much time had passed while I was in the bathroom, still reeling a bit from listening to Austin- Austin, who was kind, caring, generous, proud, understanding and wonderful- or so I thought. I guess I didn't know him at all.

            I was instructed to stay out of harm's way by Lestrade, even if I heard scuffling. Content to follow his orders, I remained on the cold tile floor, until I heard a gunshot that ended the noisy brawl outside. Next thing I knew, against my better (or any) judgment, I was on my feet, running towards the living room, where the sound had come from. 

            The scene I had come upon seemed absolutely surreal, like a silent film. Lestrade was on the floor, bleeding from what I figured was a gunshot wound to his right shoulder; Holmes was trying to apply pressure to the wound. Austin was standing defiantly across from Lestrade and Holmes, wielding two guns. Upon closer scrutiny, I realized he was pointing Lestrade's gun, a standard police issue, in the direction of Lestrade and Holmes, and held his own gun with his other hand at his side. 

            Everything seemed to stop as I ventured into the room. "Austin?"

            "Stay back, Laura. Let me take care of the other one."

            I swallowed uneasily and began taking steps toward him. "Austin, please."

            Austin glared at me. "What are you doing? I told you, I'm going to finish this." 

            I was now standing between Austin and Holmes. "No," I said with a firmness I didn't know I had inside of me. "You can't. I won't let you." 

            "Move aside, Laura." Austin's voice seemed shakier.

            Holmes spoke for the first time. "She was the one who brought us here, Dr. Reingold."

             Austin stared at me, incredulously. "You did what?" he whispered. 

            Holmes answered for me. "Laura. She was the one who called us."

            _What was Holmes doing? Was he trying to get me shot too? "Austin, I…"_

            Austin cut me off. "Did you call them? Tell me honestly, Laura."

            I was speechless. 

            "Laura, please, I need to know." His voice was a dreadful monotone that sent chills down my spine, creating a sense of déjà vu. It was the same voice James (my now ex-husband) used when he asked about my infidelity. 

            I nodded, still unable to say anything. 

            "How could you?" Austin cried out, sinking to his knees. 

            "I only wanted to help you!" My outburst surprised even me; this didn't feel real- until then. 

            "Laura, tell me. Do you love me now?" Again, the hollow, empty voice.

            "No," I whispered, after a short pause. 

            "Did you ever?" he pried. "Did you ever love me more than James?"

            "Do you really want to hear the answer?" 

            Austin understood. At the point, he crumpled completely to the ground, seemingly unable to move, the guns falling to the floor. 

            "Watson?" Holmes' voice seemed so far away.

            I turned around.

            "We need to get Detective Lestrade to a hospital. He's lost consciousness."

            I was torn. "I… don't know if I can leave."

            Austin seemed to break out of his trance. "Go. I don't ever want to see you again."

            I opened my mouth to protest.

            Austin shook his head. "If you ever cared for me even as a friend, please. Leave."

            I nodded. I got up and helped Holmes carry the unconscious Lestrade out to the unmarked van, placing Lestrade on the van floor and covering him with a blanket. I got into the front passenger side of the van while Holmes jumped into the front seat. 

            And then I heard it. A single gunshot pierced through the eerily silent neighborhood. 

            I turned to go back inside the house, but then I felt Holmes' hand on my arm. 

            "It's over, Watson."

            I then understood Holmes' deeper meaning. Reaching over, I closed the passenger side door, and Holmes peeled out of the driveway, racing towards the nearest hospital. 

AN: Thanks to snowwolf, Ray Travis, Kerowyn, PinkPanther, and Rhodesia! Your comments are so inspiring!


	13. Shock

AN: Yes, I forget to apologize for my prolonged absence (it should be a crime to have 3 weeks of 3 midterms each week) in my last installment, so I'm posting this section just a bit earlier than I planned. Anyway, I think there's just bit more to go! 

Chapter 12

            The next five hours were a blur, of which I only remember bits and pieces. Finding out that Austin's body was being wheeled to the medical examiner's office for an autopsy. Talking with the police and the assistant district attorney. Refusing a counselor. And waiting. I sat in the waiting room as if I was expecting something to happen. Holmes had gone in with Lestrade and was nowhere to be seen, although the police had mentioned they had spoken to him already. 

            "Excuse me, Dr. Watson. Detective Lestrade is awake and wants to see you," a nurse interpreted my self-imposed segregation. 

            I obediently got up and followed her into a nearby room. 

            "Only 15 minutes, Mr. Lestrade. You need your rest if you want to go home tonight," she admonished. 

            I approached the bed. Lestrade's shoulder was covered in bandages; his face reflected extreme fatigue. 

            "How are you, detective?" I murmured. 

            "I'll be just fine, Dr. Watson. I'll be back on active duty in no time." he replied, without a trace of the usual skepticism. 

            I nodded, not sure what else to say.

            He shifted uneasily in the bed. "Anyway, I just, you know… this is difficult… thanks, Dr. Watson."

            "You're welcome." The world was definitely coming to an end. _Lestrade, thanking me? _

            His voice took on the normal tone. "Of course, I'd like to see you first thing tomorrow morning at the station so we can close this up. I heard that SOB shot himself. Definitely saved us the work from frying him."

            I shoved my hands into my pockets. 

            "Have a good day, Dr. Watson." He waved me off. 

            Guess he didn't change that much after all. I nodded a curt goodbye, and left the room, closing the door behind me. 

            I ran into Holmes in the waiting room. 

            "Lestrade back to his old self?"

            I nodded. "More than you know." 

            It seemed as if Holmes was studying me, as I sat down next to him.

            "So now what?" I asked him, unsure of what to do next.

            He shrugged. "The cases are solved, and Dr. Reingold is dead. That part of your personal past- it's gone too."

            "I know," I shot back testily before softening. "But I don't…"

            "Feel like it's over just yet?"

            I tried to smile. "Exactly. Doesn't feel like closure."

            He stood up. "Come on, I want to show you something that might help."

            I jumped up and followed him.  

AN:  Thanks again so much to my reviewers! Oh, and would you all want a sequel? 


	14. Epilogue

AN: HUGE apologies for the big delay- in fact, I shouldn't be writing since I have finals next week… but I felt bad for not finishing. Thanks again to snowwolf (my faithful!), pinkpanther, littletiger, finley, kenta divina, calbee, jake, and fowl-star for reviewing. This is for you! Oh, and I put the first part of the sequel up- it takes place about three months after the end of this story. Ok, enough blabbing from me. Hope you enjoy! 

Epilogue

            I followed Holmes out of the hospital to his car, which was covered with a layer of dust so thick that you could barely make out the black paint. The inside was completely littered with bizarre contraptions of all sorts, and the world's biggest stash of what looked like scrap paper. 

            "Just toss that in the backseat," Holmes gestured to the manila folders on the passenger side. I did as he asked, and slipped into seat, still a bit unsure about the whole thing.

            "Where are we going?" I asked. 

            "You'll see." He began fiddling with the radio, finally settling on a relatively static-y station.

            I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell type of music did he listen to, but before I could say anything, I realized that his radio wasn't just any old car radio, but it had attached to it a police radio, complete with mouthpiece. So Holmes was listening to the police blotter. _Sheesh__._

           Holmes continued to drive for what seemed like a really long time. We were heading up towards the mountains, I figured that. Everything was getting more sparse, until he suddenly jerked the car to a halt in front of a park.

            He motioned for me to get out, and I did so, a bit curious. I followed him across the road, and then I noticed the neatly cut granite stones embedded in perfectly aligned rows across the grass. We weren't at any park; Holmes had brought me to a graveyard. 

            I shivered involuntarily. Holmes must have noticed, for he tossed his trench coat across my shoulders. I continued to follow him until we had reached a group of mourners in black. They had seemed to just finish the ceremony, most of them filing past us silently.

            When they had passed by, Holmes motioned for me to follow him as he approached an old couple, standing silently by the newly covered grave. 

            "Mr. and Mrs. Lee?" Holmes voice cut through the silence.

            The couple looked at Holmes oddly. "Hello," the old man addressed Holmes politely.

            "My name is Jake Holmes, I work for the police department." He pulled me closer so I was standing next to him. "This is Dr. Laura Watson. We were both on your daughter's case."

            The old lady gasped when she saw me. "You…"

            The old man patted her arm. "Honey, that's not Christina." 

            I swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," I managed to mumble, throwing a sideways glance at Holmes. His face was unreadable. "I'm sorry about your- daughter," I gushed, fumbling for words. _What was I apologizing for? Wasn't I glad that deep down, it wasn't me who was lying in the grave? And wasn't it my fault for this in the first place? It was my infidelity that started this whole thing. The significance of recent events began to dawn on me, and I felt a heavy weight pressing down on me. _

            I collapsed onto my knees. "I'm so sorry," I cried, burying my face in my hands, as I felt hot tears slide down my cheeks. "It's entirely my fault." The lives I ruined… _Christina's, Austin's, James'…_

            I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and found myself staring into the wrinkled faces of the old couple. They had bent down next to me in the grass. 

            "Dr. Watson," the old man began feebly.

            I looked at him, apprehensively. 

            "It's okay," he said sincerely. I glanced at him disbelievingly.

            His wife nodded. "We know it wasn't your fault." _Did they really know the extent of my involvement? _

            The old man wiped away the last of my tears with a tissue. "Whatever it is, we understand. And thank you, for stopping him before he… before it happened again."

            "You're welcome," I stuttered, as I felt a strange lightness in my heart. It was as if my burden was alleviated.

            They nodded back, before getting up and lumbering off towards the other mourners. 

            I got up from my knees, searching the area for Holmes. While I was talking to the old couple, he had left, and was now leaning by an upright headstone.

            I walked towards where he was, and we shared a brief moment of silence.

            "Did you get what you needed?" His words seemed piercing in the air. 

            I nodded. "How did you know?" I whispered.

            He shrugged, but I detected some melancholy in his voice. "We all need a little forgiveness sometime." He began to walk back towards the car. 

            I was about to turn and head after him until the name on the tombstone we had been standing next to caught my eye. _Jason Holmes. His brother's keeper. I filed the tidbit of information away for some other time, and hurried after Holmes. The sun was beginning to set, and it was looking like just one of those nights. _


End file.
